


The Girl in Question

by Bathorybabe



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 11:16:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bathorybabe/pseuds/Bathorybabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A snapshot of Hawke on the eve of her mother's funeral and the three men that love her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Girl in Question

**A/N: This one was inspired by Green Day's "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" specifically the Broadway Cast's version of the song. Also, the title is a blatant omage to Joss Whedon, as it is the title of a season five "Angel" episode.**

_I walk a lonely road_

_the only one that I have ever know_

_don't know where it goes_

_but it's home to me and I walk alone._

_I walk this empty street_

_on the boulevard of broken dreams_

_where the city sleeps_

_and I'm the only one and I walk alone._

_-Green Day-_

 

                A body lay entombed in Kirkwall, put to rest at twilight, and as the night fell and wove its way through the streets, three doors opened with a purpose and shut firmly behind three very different men. Each had their own reasons for making this journey, but the destination was one and the same. The city streets were nigh unto abandoned as the elf, the mage, and the priest each made a fools pilgrimage to seek out the woman.

                The elf’s vision swam with the dueling images of the proud Leandra, reduced to such a horrific creature, and of her lovely daughter. He could still see her face, void of emotion as she watched the grand cleric recite the funeral mass over her mother’s remains. He had longed to reach out, offer her what little comfort he could, but shame had burned through him. He all too well remembered the last time he had sought to touch her, the way their passion had burned along his skin. And he too remembered the pained look in her eyes when he had walked away from her, caught up in his own personal hell. He had spent his existence running, from his master, the magisters, the slavers, and in the end the woman who dared to offer him her heart. Running was a familiar road, one that bore the imprints of his strides for many years.

                The priest, having told himself that he was simply seeking out a child of the Maker to offer solace and peace, found himself brooding over whether or not he even knew the meaning of the words. He made a vow to serve the Maker, eschewing all earthly pleasures and titles, but the name of Vael hung heavy around his neck. The woman’s words, fierce and demanding, urging him to reclaim his family’s throne echoed in his ears, causing him to doubt again and again the choices he had made.  He had not been to Starkhaven in quite some time, and if he was honest with himself, it no longer brought with it a sense of hearth and home, but then, neither did the chantry. As of late, only one thing brought him that sense of safety and warmth, and it was no mere place on a map, but a person, urging him to be better than he had ever allowed himself to be.

 

                Needing to clear his head of the stench of illness and the ever present vengeance that called his body home the Mage slipped through the streets of Hightown, a cloak pulled low over his brow. He had thought of her all day, wanting desperately to be a pillar of strength in her hour of need. In the end his cowardice won out, too afraid of being seen in day light by the templars, and so he had waited for night to settle on Kirkwall, making this sojourn somewhat easier. But not by much. He could see the evidence of the templars unjust reign stamped all over Hightown; Propaganda sheets declaring mages unstable, knights of the order patrolling the streets seeking runaway mages. It was as if everywhere in Kirkwall he could hear the mages dreams of freedom breaking. So perhaps he was seeking out the woman, the one he had loved so desperately and secretly for so very long, more for the comfort and solace she could provide him.

 

                And so the three men walked, each lost in their own thoughts as they sought out the one thing they all so desperately needed. The journey was different for each, a long treacherous road for some, and a short, heart breaking path for others. And along the way, their thoughts burned with the image of her lovely face.

 

 The mere thought of her, embracing him in understanding brought the mage’s ever present shadow to the forefront of his mind, the spirit chiding him for wasting time on what was an idyllic dream at best. He bowed his head in frustration, knowing that even now, in the deserted streets, he was never truly alone.

Feeling his heart beat with every step that brought him closer to her door, the elf began to doubt his actions. Twice he had turned back, convinced that there was nothing to be found in this dream. And yet, every time he did so, he would see her emerald eyes flash with pain, a pain that he had caused. If he was to find absolution, it would need to come from her and her alone.

The priest was seeking a different sort of absolution, silently calling out the Maker to give him strength as he walked the familiar path that would take him to her. She had left him bereft of every weapon available to him, leaving only his faith intact. And so he prayed; his jaw clenched with effort. And yet, not even for the first time, no answer was forth coming.

 

                Each man was presented with an opportunity to turn back, to run and hide behind their emotional walls they had so carefully constructed over the years. And with each diversion, the temptation to see her, just once, to wipe the tears from her eyes overrode them all.

 

                The chantry bell tolled midnight, bringing the priest to a sudden halt. He let out a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. It was as if the very sound, echoing out through the chantry’s bell tower revealed his true purpose this night. He was no seeking solace, nor was he offering it. He did not wish to play the role of confessor to the bereft daughter. No. He wished to take her in his arms, press his body against hers until they became one. He was skirting a dangerous line, and was close to falling off the precipice into damnation…but what a beautiful fall it would be.

                The sound of approaching footfalls had the mage slipping into the shadows, his back pressed tight to the wall of a nearby mansion. He watched in anger as two templars dragged a screaming mage through the streets, their lewd jokes stoking a fury within him. He could feel the spirit swell within him, demanding that he save the poor soul. The desire to unleash his power on the two men was overwhelming, but he was determined to see this journey through. With a painful gasp he turned his attention away from the injustice and continued through the streets, all the while holding the image of her delicate features in his mind like a talisman.

                Unbeknownst to the mage, the elf witnessed the same struggle, and bore it all with dull eyes. It stirred nothing within him, not even pleasure at the sight of yet another maleficar being sent to their just fate. It gave him pause, wondering briefly if this was even real, or if he was dreaming and wandering the fade. Surely if he had been awake he would have felt joy at seeing a dangerous mage handled thusly, and at the very least he would not have embarked on the fool’s errand to seek out a meeting that would only end with bruises on his heart. Unwilling to take the chance he struck out a fist, striking a nearby stone wall with deadly force. He remained silent as he inspected his hand for injury. Seeing his blood trickle across his skin sent a wave of grief through him. This was not the fade; he had willingly chosen to engage in this masochistic exercise. Growling softly, he let his feet carrying him ever closer to her door.

 

                And so it was that three men arrived on the door step of the women they loved. Each arrived within moments of each other. No explanations were offered up; in fact no words were spoken. They regarded each other with eyes full of understanding. Despite whatever petty feelings they usually harbored for each other, in this they shared. They all loved the same woman, and each one was terrified of that knowledge.

                Silence enveloped the three, each unwilling to raise a fist to rap upon the manor door. The minutes ticked past and each man weakened in his resolve to take that final step that would allow their hearts to be offered up.

                Unbeknownst to them, the girl in question gazed down at them from the balcony of her bed chamber. She had come to breathe the night air and think back on the memories of her mother. Three familiar figures had caught her gaze and she stopped breathing out of hope and shock. She so desperately wanted one of them, just one, to brave their fears and cross her threshold. But wanting so rarely becomes having.

                Sebastian was the first to leave, his vows to deeply ingrained within him to break faith now. He would return to the chantry, and on the morrow he would spend the day in solitude offering up prayers and contrition to the Maker. When he saw her he would act every inch the holy gentleman he had been. But tonight? Tonight he would toss in his bed, thoughts of passion and despair warring within him.

                Anders watched Sebastian go and sighed. He could feel Justice stirring within him, demanding that he follow suit. In the end, that alone was what caused him to step away from the door and head back to his clinic. He was so in love with her he couldn’t stand it, but she deserved far more than he could offer. She deserved a man, and with the spirit residing in him, he wasn’t sure he qualified as anything but a monster anymore.

                Fenris was left alone to stare hard at the door before him. He raised his hand slowly, making as if to rap upon the wood when a movement caught the corner of his eyes. Stepping back to glance up he found himself transfixed but Hawke’s pleading gaze. She was a vision, her long honey colored hair rustling softly in the evening breeze. He said nothing, made no move, pinned as he was by her eyes. They were filled with a longing so deep that he could feel it press down on him. Time slowed and stretched between them. For a brief moment Fenris felt as if he would simply burst if he did not rush to her side and take her in his arms. The memory of their night together roared through his mind and he tensed with desire. He was dragged back to the cold harshness of reality when his lyrium scars flared to life at the memory burning along his skin. It was far too much a reminder of how they had come to life when he had made love to her. All the reasons why he had run from her still existed, and he had made an error coming here. He felt his heart break as he softly shook his head ‘no.’ Hawke bit back a quiet sob as she tiled in her head in disbelief. It took all of Fenris’ will to tear his gaze from hers and slowly make his way back to his home. The sound of her dejected sigh haunted him the whole way.

 

                And so Marian Hawke watched the three men who had sought her out take their leave of her, each walking through the courtyard of Hightown estates in a different direction. They had come alone, and left alone, each unwilling to brush aside their selfishness on the one night she craved contact and comfort more than anything in the world. She felt her heart shatter as tears rolled down her cheeks, for although they loved her, their affections had never made her feel more alone in her life.  


End file.
